An Angel's Phantom Pain
by ErisCriss
Summary: Endverse!Castiel experiences an unsettling sensation while under the influence of a heavy drug. This feeling is one that he never thought he'd likely experience again, seeing as the Heavens remain barren...


_Creak_...

The ex-angel's muscles stiffened, a jolt of fear plunged into his chest by the sound. Icy blues darted towards the door, sensing nothing in the blackness, but his heart would not still. What had caused that noise? Had someone come to join him in his inky black hellhole?

"Paranoia is getting to you... You overdosed..." As if that would be of some comfort to himself. And it was, to some extent, a comfort indeed. For he knew that paranoia would make him jumpy, and he knew now that he could calm himself down. It did not, however, bring him any comfort to know that a wide array of dangerous side-effects were soon to follow.

He pulled his clothes closer to his body, hoping to fend off the shakes before they took control of his weary bones.

"Fuck... This is gonna be so bad..."

He could kick himself. Dean practically raised him from his own sins and how did he repay him? He sat down in his dirty cabin and snorted himself his own personal hell.

"What have I done? Fuck, why did I do this...?"

As if on cue, the side effects began to pile on. Starting with the blurred vision. His lids crashed together over and over, trying to clear his vision. Frost on a windshield. God, it felt like he was trying to see out of a frost covered windshield.

He brought his thumb and forefinger to his eyes, rubbing roughly, causing colors to bleed into his vision behind closed lids. He sucked in a shaky breath, feeling the cold air claw at the sides of his throat and crack the skin of his lips. Warm red liquid began to bead within the cracks of his broken lips, only to solidify and become dark red scabs along the skin of the broken man. Yellow smoke-stained teeth tore at the ragged flesh, reopening the dried pockets of blood, the metallic taste warming his tongue as the chills took over.

It was as if he could feel everything now...

His lips stung intensely each time he would drag his burning tongue across its wounds. The weight of his eyelids was almost too much for Castiel to handle, deciding he would keep them closed, feeling them buzz with relief.

Nausea-

Castiel gritted his teeth, swallowing profusely in attempts to keep down the sick that threatened to rise. Sweat rolled down the side of his face, sending pulses of heat throughout the entirety of his head. He felt as if his skull was throbbing...

His shoulders tightened, the muscles squeezing together painfully, twitching every so often, causing the ex-angel to gasp and pray for some sort of relief. And then-

"MY WINGS-" he threw his head back, letting the words claw their way out of his esophagus, reaching his own ears in the form of a bloodcurdling scream. He could feel them, God why could he feel them? They had been taken from him ages ago, ripped from this very plane of existence, leaving him squabbling around in the dirt like some sort of animal.

The only things that separated him from man and the celestial; the ape and the ethereal. They haunted him, teasing him with their false presence, keeping Castiel in edge.

Why did he scream? Aside from the phantom feeling, nothing more than a slight tug on the muscles, there was no pain. He could feel hot tears pricking his cheeks, a tightness traveling from his throat to the pit of his stomach. Panic. Pure panic. A build up of worry and terrible anxiety, multiplied by the affects of the Molly the ex-angel had inhaled only minutes ago.

He tried to stand, dull nails bending into the cabin frame as he clawed at the wooden walls for hold. Small splinters pricking his calloused hands as he drug himself off of the floor. Through gritted teeth he sucked in a sharp breath, willing the ghost-like feeling of his absent wings away to no avail.

At long last he opened his eyes, a dull ache forming in the back of his orbs as he painfully adjusted to the lack of light in the cabin. Sweat clung to the collar of his shirt, and seeped through the areas around his armpits, causing a smell that made Castiel wrinkle his nose, his nausea threatening to take action. A shaky hand quickly jolted over to his shoulder blades in an attempt to scratch the false wings from his body, Castiel collapsed to his knees, sending a pain shooting through his legs.

"Father-"

This was surely the affect drugs, but Castiel felt as if this was also his punishment for staying from God.

Bloodied nails dug into the fabric in his back, tugging his shirt from over his head, his body covered with sweat. Still in his knees, Castiel hunched over until his head rested upon the floor, too tired to remain upward. Hands lethargically clawing at his blades, despite the racing panic with his chest.

"Father please-"

A copper tang tainted the air, and upon reaching Castiel's nose, his throat tightened. He squeezed his eyes shut, relentlessness overtaking him as he began swallowing down his sick as not to let it spill from his mouth.

"Father make it stop. If you... If you should punish me... Then kill me. Kill me, I beg of you. Anything but this..." Strained pleas escaped the cracked lips of the suffering man, warm red liquid trickling down from his back to the wooden floor.

Dean.

He had to find Dean.

He was the only one that gave him a will to survive through the trials of mankind.

Cas pulled his stained hands from his shoulders, the fresh wounds stinging and burning like hellfire, and he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He cracked his eyes open, tears spilling through the open kids as he raised his head and searched for the door. With one arm now outstretched as if he could reach the door, shaking fingers grasping nothing but air, Castiel felt it. He felt IT. and he knew what was going to happen...

"DEAN-" he shouted, cut off by the bile that then escaped from behind his lips. A whole new wave of exhaustion rolling through his entire body, his head too heavy for his new lack of strength. He fell down onto the ground, his face landing within his own pile of sick, sputtering for fresh air, gasping for it even, the hot air and heavy smell deeming it impossible to properly breathe.

Oh god... The smell...

It was the last Castiel remembered as the darkness violently overtook him, ripping away any bit of consciousness that the ex-angel had been desperately been clinging to. There he lay, motionless and bloodied. A pathetic being ripped from the heavens only to live life between drugs, and a growing sickness within him.


End file.
